E R N I E ' S H O U S E O F W H O O P A S S

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February 29, 2008

I Admire The Kid. I Think He's Got A Lot Of Balls.

And if I were in charge? Once I found out what news agency broke the news that Prince Harry was in Afghanistan? Putting not only his life in more danger, but also the lives of those troops around him? You want to talk about shunned? Matt drudge would get nothing ever again. No exclusives, no interviews, no photographs, and certainly no military protection. Stugots. Nothing. I would make it policy than any military member caughting communicating with said news agency would face court martial. His website would be banned from military bases. What he did was complete bullshit. I would not rest until I had run his ass out of business.

And I have a busy day today, so I just want to point out that Iran isn't all bad. This guy killed and raped over twenty childrenbetween the ages of 7 to 13 years.. He was caught, sentenced to one hundred lashes and then hanged. Oh, and Happy Fucking Leap Year!

hi ern - long time reader here, love your work! here's a link on a current ebay sale that you might find ...amazing. wasn't sure of the most direct route to reach you. btw, is freakin' snowing up here in boston..just so ya know. frank

Wow, I always knew Tila Tequila was an attention whore, but I didn't know she was a regular whore too. Check our her pretty lezboed up video (NSFW). I don't really find her attractive at all. I'm not saying I would kick her out of bed, or not let me blow me in the back seat of my car, but there's a lot of other Asian chicks I'd pick before her. For example, one of the few Asian chicks I have hot pants for is Ziyi Zhang. I can't quite put my finger on why, but there's certainly something about her that gets my attention. She's in another flick called The Legend of the Black Scorpion that hits DVD this coming week. Anyone see it in the theatres?

I'll Never Understand Why Everyone Doesn't Have A Dog.

In the early 1940's, Swiss inventor George de Mestral went on a walk with his dog. After arriving home, he saw that his pants and his dog's coat were covered with cockleburrs. When he looked at the burrs under a microscope, he discovered they have a natural hook-like shape, which became the basis for his invention of a unique, two-sided fastener --- one side with stiff "hooks" like the burrs and the other side with the soft "loops" like the fabric of his pants. The result was VELCRO® brand hook and loop fasteners, named for the French words"velour" and "crochet."

Increasingly, people are being choosier about their pet's name ... and with dogs, names like Bowser & Rover are in disfavor. The trend is seen as part of a steady growing importance of the role that the pets play in family life. Family dogs are seen more and more as bonafide family members. According to a survey by the Veterinary Pet Insurances, the most popular names for a male pet are Max, Buddy, Jake, Rocky, Bailey, Buster, Charlie, Bear, Sam, Lucky, Cody, Toby, Jack, Shadow, Duke, Rusty, Harley, Sammy, Oliver, and Murphy. The most popular female names are Molly, Maggie, Daisy, Lucy, Sadie, Ginger, Chloe, Sophie, Bailey, Princess, Angel, Zoe, Sasha, Lady, Missy, Samantha, Abby, Brandy, Misty, and Bella. The once popular name 'Fido' comes from Latin meaning fidelity.

Based on an average life span of 11 years, the cost of owning a dog is $13,350.

Dogs only sweat from the bottoms of their feet, the only way they can discharge heat is by panting. Dogs and wolves yawn as a sign of contentment.

Dogs have about 100 different facial expressions, most of them made with the ears. Unfortunately, the likes of bulldogs and pitbulls only have 10, due to their breeding. Therefore, these dogs easily get misinterpreted by other dogs and often get into fights.

One of the worlds oldest breeds of dog is the Saluki. It is thought to have been developed in ancient Mesopotamia around 3000 B.C.

The fastest dog, the Greyhound, can reach speeds of up to 44 mph. (Most dogs run at a speed of 30 mph.) They were known to exist in ancient Egypt as many as 6,000 years ago. and were traditionally used to hunt large prey such as wolf, deer, and wild boar.

A dog's sense of smell is one of the keenest in nature. If a pot of stew was cooking on a stove, a human would smell the stew, while the dog could smell the beef, carrots, peas, potatoes, spices, and all the other individual ingredients in the stew. In fact, if you unfolded and laid out the delicate membranes from inside a dogs nose, the membranes would be larger than the dog itself.

Bassets can't swim. Their legs are too short to keep their heavy, long bodies afloat.

Two dogs survived the sinking of Titanic. They escaped on early lifeboats carrying so few people that no one objected. Miss Margaret Hays of New York brought her Pomeranian with her in lifeboat No. 7, while Henry Sleeper Harper of the publishing family boarded boat No. 3 with his Pekinese, Sun Yat Sen.

Giving dogs chocolate could be fatal for them, because theobromine, an ingredient of chocolate, stimulates the central nervous system and cardiac muscle. About 2.4 lbs of milk chocolate or just 5.14 oz of cooking chocolate (which has more theobromine per ounce) could kill a 50 lb dog.

In the original 101 Dalmatians movie, Pongo has 72 spots, Perdita has 68 and each of the puppies has 32.

Chewbacca, the hairy Wookiee in the Star Wars movies, was inspired by George Lucas' loyal dog Indiana, an Alaskan Malamute.

Dogs exist in a wide range of sizes, colors, and temperaments. Some, such as the Doberman pinscher and the German shepherd, serve as alert and aggressive watchdogs. Others, such as the beagle and the cocker spaniel, are playful family pets, even though they were bred for hunting. Still others, such as the collie and the Welsh corgi, can herd farm or range animals. Each of the dogs just mentioned is a purebred. A mongrel dog, however--one with many breeds in its background--can just as easily fit into family life.

Dogs have been domesticated for most of human history and have thus endeared themselves to many over the years. Stories have been told about brave dogs that served admirably in war or that risked their lives to save persons in danger. When Pompeii--the Roman community destroyed by Mount Vesuvius in AD 79--was finally excavated, searchers found evidence of a dog lying across a child, apparently trying to protect the youngster.

Well Sure I'm An Asshole. That's Part Of My Charm.

Fuck the pseudo-black guy with all the answers. Fuck the wrinkled old white guy who served his nation. I say Yippie Kay Yay, America! Let's elect John McClane for President in 2008! Gotta admit, he'd be tough on crime.

Thirteen days in Hell has closed out, with Daniel picking up the big win. I haven't picked out anohter game just yet, so in the meantime play a game that tests your memory like no other. I think it's so challenging it migh just give you brain cancer.

Nothing says fun like stomping around the hills of Lebanon trying to find unspent Israeli cluster bombs. I'm warning you -- you'll end up about as lucky as a three fingered shop teacher. So ask yourself, is it worth it?

My favorite mayor/cougar in the whole wide world lost her job, which is complete fucking bullshit. I tried to find the ebay auction but no luck. Anyone have it?

So me and the PNB agreed that a year from now we'll be sitting around and laughing about which of us was right in regards to who takes the anal fisting. Yep, I can taste those free beers already.

You Poor Naive Bastard.

Yesterday afforded me the opportunity to have a brief yet enlightening conversation with a buddy of mine. I shall henceforth refer to him as Poor Naive Bastard (PNB). You see, PNB is currently in the military and thus is able to provide a unique perspective on the events that impact their lives and operational tempo. We compared our thoughts in regards to the B-2 crash and how it relates to the overall state of our military; PNB was quite entertained by my, "they're all going to get fuckin fired!' mantra, and offered a somewhat different perspective on the outcome. It is his belief that the Higher-Ups will see this B-2 crash as somewhat of a wake up call; that the military is indeed pressing both man and machine a little too far and if one wanted to put a price tag on such things, this latest $1.2 billion dollar might do just that. I believe this individual honestly think that somewhere up the food chain, a Higher-Up will stand tall and say, "You know what? This shit is all my fault. The F-15 Eagles being grounded because the airframes are cracking because maintenance crews can't keep up. The B-2 crash because the bomber teams have been deployed 45 of the last 48 months. Even the spike in civilian friendly fire incidents by ground troops in Iraq; all because they've been pushed too far for too long. Nerves are worn. Machines are breaking down. We should take advantage of this as a learning opportunity, dial back our operations, reassess which tools and personnel best serve the mission, and reassign our assets accordingly. They're simply being pushed too hard, and I could have stopped it and I didn't. I take full responsibility. SO let's fix this and move forward."

And to that I say... you Poor Naive Bastard. I'll explain why. But first I have to tell you a little bit about Hanscom AFB. Unlike any other Air Force base where 90% of the personnel are enlisted and the other 10% are officers, Hanscom's officer:enlisted ratio was the exact opposite due to its non-operational mission. And of those officers, the vast majority were field grade so it really was a base of policy makers. As a tiny little airman, I have flipped more powerpoint presentations and observed more high end pow-wows than any one man ever should. One particular Brigadier General was quite well known for making extremely poor decisions and then publicly crucifying his subordinates when they ultimately failed to carry out his diabolical plans. He was a Higher-Up-Douche-Bag (HUDB). My insignificance afforded me the opportunity to closely observe how the other half lived in their natural habitat. You see, PNB is looking at this from the wrong perspective. He's looking at it as one of the guys who has more than just his career to lose. For those that go out and actually put boots on the ground, or strap their ass into a flight suit, or turn the key of their HUMMVEE each morning, there's a lot more at stake than a monthly pension check and free dental care. If policies and procedures were set forth by these front line guys, there wouldn't be any emergencies because they know the smoking crater at the end of the runway just might be themselves.

But policies are not made by the front line guys who keep their weapons cleaner than their boots, and place covering the mission above covering their ass. No, policies are made by the HUDB's who get to wear patent leather shoes and send their secretaries out on Monday mornings to pick up poppyseed muffins for breakfast. They're the guys who don't put their asses on the line anymore, so the biggest thing they have to risk is being passed by the next promotion board. Fifty extra hours of squadron operational time to a front line warrior means more time listening to bullets clank off the side of your APC or watching your Threat Warning Receiver light up for the umpteenth time. Fifty extra hours of squadron operational time to a HUDB is a few extra percentage points when they're giving the monthly briefing to their boss (another HUDB) -- his unit's numbers on the screen will read "105% of capacity" instead of "102%" like last month. But hey, that extra bit sure looks good come promotion time, who cares about the guys actually doing the dirty work! And from there, the bullshit just runs uphill. That HUDB can report to his HUDB that one of their units is operating at 105% capacity, and on and on. And afterwards they'll all go out for martinis and circle jerk each other on what a great job they're doing. I hate to be a cynical bastard, but that's the way it is. And as for a $1,200,000,000 price tag raising some eyebrows? That's nothing. Chump change. That's less than the cost of a week in Iraq. A one billion dollar plane crash isn't even a blip on the financial radar. Think human cost will get some attention? Bzzzt, look at the delay in MRAPs.

So when it comes time for a good anal fisting, as will soon be happening in Guam and Whiteman and Elgin, whose head is going to be on the chopping block? Not the martini drinking HUDB who set the policy, that's for sure. They will save their own careers at any cost and will gladly throw as many people under the wheels of that bus as they have to. Because after all, when the dust settles they've got important things like a pension riding on this, ya know? And I'll even one up ya, PNB. After doing his best Frank Slade impression and taking a flame thrower to that place, burning the very people who were doing nothing more than fulfilling the requirements he set forth, HUDB is going to be hailed a master problem solver for addressing such a dangerous situation so quickly and decisively. For your sake PNB, I hope I'm wrong -- I really do. But I know I'm not. I have slept in the very belly of the beast, and he is not clean. Oh and as a reminder, the Pats lost the Super Bowl.

My boss got home from a trip to Disney World and took this picture while she was there. I was told that they were also on the hood of the car and partially blocking the front windshield but they turned down another street and she couldn’t take a picture. Enjoy. Stephen

How The Air Force Will Handle The B-2 Bomber Crash.

By now everyone knows a B-2 Spirit bomber crashed in Guam over the weekend. This unfortunate event -- which is tantamount to the second coming of Christ at least in the military arena -- will probably be more thoroughly researched than the space shuttle crashes. The catch is no matter whose shoulders they ultimately pin the blame on, there is a laundry list of personnel who will suffer the fallout. It won't matter that they had nothing to do with what happened, or if they were on vacation two weeks before and two weeks after, or if they did their job perfectly. People are going to eat a lot of shit, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop it.

First and foremost, will obviously be the pilots. Thankfully, both ejected safely so while their asses might be intact, their careers are certainly not. They, are going to be fucking fired. And it doesn't matter if the final investigation attributed the crash to mechanical failure, pilot error, or a UFO death ray. They're fucking fired, period. And I suppose I should explain what that means in the military world, since when you're fired, you're not actually sent off to the bread lines. When a military personnel is fired they're removed from whatever duties it was they're trained to do, and moved over to what will amount to be a meaningless job. They will be given a cubicle in some janitor's closet at the far end of base and will stay in this dead end career path until they serve their twenty years to retirement, or otherwise choose to bring their commission/enlistment an end. For a pilot to be fired means he will never see the inside of another cockpit for as long as they live. It doesn't matter if they graduated from Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University, and joined the Air Force ROTC and graduated top of their class, and have billions of dollars of training in their heads, and are the best damn pilot their instructs have ever seen. Whatever rank these pilots took off with that day, will be the rank they retire with. And when they get out of the military, commercial airlines won't touch them. Same thing goes for the wing and squadron commanders. The rule is simple: crash a billion dollar bomber: you get fucking fired. It's the human equivalent to Sherman's, scorched earth policy.

Yes, the Air Force is going to fucking fire everyone that even came near that plane prior to its crash. Crew Chief? Fucking fired. The guy who checked the tire pressure? Fucking fired. The squadron Safety Officer? Fucking fired. The airman who drove the golf cart that shuttled the pilots out to their plane? Fucking fired. The two guys repainting stripes at the end of the runway? Fucking fired. Air Traffic Controller? Fucking fired. The guys who fueled the plane? Fucking fired. The guy with the orange cones that who marshalled the plane out onto the taxiway? Fucking fired. The cashier at the coffee shop where the pilots grabbed a cup of java while driving to work? Fucking fired. Their mailman? Fucking fired. In fact, I bet if one of the pilot's wives is pregnant, federal agents will be dispatched to push her down a flight of stairs. Their kids will get beat up and expelled from school. There's just going to be no mercy. They would fire God if they could.

As I'm pretty sure the pilots were well aware of these consequences, I ask you to consider the following. Imaging you're an Air Force pilot. You control one of the single most expensive piece of equipment in your nation's entire arsenal. You have been trained, retrained, and re-retrained a dozen times over. You know your job forwards and backwards. You are a walking, talking encyclopedia of answers to any "what if..." scenario that has ever been dreamed of. You are prepared for any in-flight emergency that fate can throw at you. So you're in your cockpit of your 1.2 billion dollar B-2 Spirit stealth bomber and you take off, and x-amount of seconds later, a snot load of red warning lights go off on your instrument panel. You training and instincts kick in, and you follow your emergency procedures down to the letter. But instead of improving, your situation worsens. Now somewhere in the back of your subconscious, there has to be that voice. That voice that reminds you that a B-2 has never ever been lost before and if something should happen to this plane, you would be remembered for all time as, "the guy who lost the first B-2". And I'm not even talking about survival at this point. Not yet anyway. I'm talking purely about the psychological impact of being the first guy to screw the pooch on this scale. I mean if one of these things goes down, you just fucking know it's going to make the headline of every newspaper, be talked about on all the 6 o'clock news, be raved about by bloggers... and then we get to the fun stuff... tied up in all the red tape from the official Air Force investigation and the inevitable Congressional hearings that will surely follow!

But that debate is happening in the back of your mind, and in the front you're still turning dials and pushing buttons and trying to nurse this wounded pig back to the ground with some shred of grace. And you understand that as long as you're in that cockpit and the plane is responding to your inputs at least to some degree, you have to imagine you still have a shot of pulling your ass out of the fire. Because like I said, the last thing you want to be remembered as is the first guy to crash a B-2. But at some point -- at some point -- your mind makes the connection. Something clicks. And as your hand reaches down for that ejection seat handle, you realize that this is fucking it. There's no going back one you yank that handle... you can't get 100 feet out of the plane and suddenly go back because you suddenly realized the problem was someone forgot to turn the "crash" switch to "off". And as you're really giving that handle a good fucking pull, that voice in the back of your mind steps forward and reminds you that it's better to be remembered as the first guy to crash a B-2, than it is to be remembered as the first guy to die in a B-2.

But consider the finality regarding the pilot's decision to eject. On this side of it, there's that chance, no matter how overwhelming the odds, that you just might walk away from this a hero for managing to get a stricken plane back on the ground. The rationalization that perhaps there's still something you can do. But once you eject, that's it. The end. Finality. So let me ask you fair reader -- average Joe Schmoe who doesn't know dick about flying or planes or stealth or aeronautical engineering -- just how many things would have to go wrong in order for you to make that distinction?

Hey side point. Am I the only person who thinks that if Hillary and Obama stopped slinging shit at each other for five minutes, and instead decided on a little cooperation with her sliding in as his VP, they'd be a virtual lock come November?

Current leader in Thirteen days in Hell is Robin with 467,947. Remember, only the scores of completed games are counted... so if you send me a screen cap of you with 600k points on day ten, it's no good.

I Hate Fat People.

Not those of us who can just stand to drop a few pounds around the waistline and I'm not saying we all have to look great in a bikini -- I'm talking about the really morbidly obese fat fucks. You know I'm talking about. The ones so fucking fat they have to shoehorn their enormous asses into one of those personal mobility scooters at the grocery store, because otherwise they's get winded walking up and down the aisles. Yeah, those fat fucks. Thes ones that are so fucking fat and lazy, they'll take their government funded scooters and roll through a drive-thru, instead of spending the thirty calories to get off their fat asses and actually walk inside to order their ten cheeseburgers. And fat fucks attract other fat fucks, so before you know it you have a gaggle of enormous mounds of blubber rolling around at the table next to you in a restaurant, each of their chairs straining and squeaking under a load they simply weren't designed to bear.

And when you see one of these beached fucking whales order, is it a salad with light dressing? No. Is it the broiled chicken and rice? No. It's extra gravy. More cheese. More butter. More thick goopey salad dressing. More french fries. It's 'can I get some more bread' and 'can I see your dessert menu' and then 'can I get some more bread to go.' I don't want to watch that shit when I eat, it's disgusting.

I mean what the fuck?! At what point do you wake up in the morning, and after spending twenty minutes trying to roll your fat fucking ass out of bed, admit to yourself that maybe you have a slight weight problem? When you look in ther mirror and can't tell where your tits start and your stomach begins, isn't that a red flag? And when you have to visit the doctor to have gangrene scraped from the bottom of your balls, because the skin down there can't breath - dude you've got fucking issues. Get up and move the fuck around every once in awhile. Walk, for Christ's sake. And don't fucking tell me this level of obesity is a gland problem, or it's heriditary. That's bullshit, it's a cop-out, and you know it. It's a push-back-from-the-fucking-dinner-table problem. It's a get-your-fat-fucking-ass-off-the-couch problem. It's a put-down-the-extra-helping-of-garlic-sour-cream-mashed-potatoes-and-snap-into-a-fucking-carrot problem.

I see these fat fucks ride these fucking scooters because they say they're too fat to walk. Well here's a newsflash: you're too fat to walk because you ride the fucking scooter everywhere. Don't blame McDonalds for serving unhealthy food. Don't blame your parents for are fat too. Don't blame your spouse who deep fries everything. Don't blame your sore knees and ankles. Blame yourself. Get the fuck up and move around. Show some respect for yourself and those around you. Am I the only one who can see this, or is personal responsibility really that fucking dead?

Oh, and your 13 Days In Hell final score is displayed once you complete all thirteen days, as demonstrated by Ken.

Top Ten Reasons Not To Wave.

Top Ten Reasons Why Harley Riders Don't Wave Back

10. Afraid it will invalidate warranty.
9. Leather and studs make it too heavy to raise arm.
8. Refuse to wave to anyone whose bike is already paid for.
7. Afraid to let go of handlebars because they might vibrate off.
6. Rushing wind would blow scabs off the new tattoos.
5. Angry because just took out second mortgage to pay luxury tax on new Harley.
4. Just discovered the fine print in owner's manual and realized H-D is partially owned by Honda.
3. Can't tell if other riders are waving or just reaching to cover their ears like everyone else.
2. Remembers the last time a Harley rider waved back, he impaled his hand on spiked helmet.
1. They're too tired from spending hours polishing all that chrome to lift their arms.

Top Ten Reasons Why Gold Wing Riders Riders Don't Wave Back

10. Wasn't sure whether other rider was waving or making an obscene gesture.
9. Afraid might get frostbite if hand is removed from heated grip.
8. Has arthritis and the past 400 miles have made it difficult to raise arm.
7. Reflection from etched windshield momentarily blinded him.
6. The espresso machine just finished.
5. Was actually asleep when other rider waved.
4. Was in a three-way conference call with stockbroker and accessories dealer.
3. Was distracted by odd shaped blip on radar screen.
2. Was simultaneously adjusting the air suspension, seat height, programmable CD player, seat temperature, and satellite navigation system.
1. Couldn't find the "auto wave back" button on dashboard.

Top Ten Reasons Why Sportbikers Riders Riders Don't Wave Back

10. They have not been riding long enough to know they're supposed to.
9. They're going too fast to have time enough to register the movement and respond.
8. You weren't wearing bright enough gear.
7. If they stick their arm out going that fast they'll rip it out of the socket.
6. They're too occupied with trying to get rid of their chicken strips.
5. They look way too cool with both hands on the bars or they don't want to unbalance themselves while standing on the tank.
4. Their skin tight-kevlar-ballistic-nylon-kangaroo-leather suits prevent any position other than fetal.
3. Raising an arm allows bugs into the armholes of their tank tops.
2. It's too hard to do one-handed stoppies.
1. They were too busy slipping their flip-flop back on.

Top Ten Reasons Why BMW Riders Riders Don't Wave Back

10. New Aerostich suit too stiff to raise arm.
9. Removing a hand from the bars is considered "bad form."
8. Your bike isn't weird enough looking to justify acknowledgement.
7. Too sore from an 800-mile day on a stock "comfort" seat.
6. Too busy programming the GPS, monitoring radar, listening to ipod, XM, and talking on the cell phone.
5. He's an Iron Butt rider and you're not!
4. Wires from Gerbings is too short.
3. You're not riding the "right kind" of BMW.
2. You haven't been properly introduced.
1. Afraid it will be misinterpreted as a friendly gesture.

Sorry, I just felt so inclined to post that for some reason. Anyway, I wanted to post two things today. One is these pictures of Keeley Hazel in a bikini. And the second was the next game challenge. At first I was going to pay homage to what I consider one of the better gameshows out there, Cash Cab. But given you're already at the computer and have 30 seconds to Google your answer, saw where that train wreck was headed. And so I chose something that's somewhat of a throwback to the zombie game The Last Stand I posted last year. In that one you had to hold off zombies for twenty days with the assistance of others. In 13 Days In hell, you have to hold Lost Souls (zombies) for only thirteen days, but you have to do it by yourself. You are awarded points for accuracy and penalized points for damage taken, so keep that in mind as you're blazing away. The first weapon - a revolver - is more useful during the lifespan of the game than you might think, because it has unlimited ammo. A very important note: When you're killed and the game ends, it does NOT show your final score. So you have to send it to me one of two ways: (1) grab a screen capture between levels. DO not send me each screen capture, or I will fucking stab you. Send me only the highest scoring one. Or (2) get your score posted to the leaderboard, which I'll be the first to admit, I'm nowhere even near. Good luck, Spawn.

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

When I first moved to Florida, all the way up until about three months ago, I had two vacant lots on either side of my house. It made life very convient; I could pull my truck across if I had to (un)load anything heavy, I could pitch yard clippings anywhere I wanted, and Ike had ample toom to take a crap. The larger of the two lots came up for sale last year and even though the last thing I wanted was a neighbor, I didn't worry too much with the housing market the way it is. Then in March of last year, I noticed an older couple walking the lot and checking out the view of the pond. Shit. If having a neighbor was bad, then having an old neighbor would be even worse. I immediately kicked on the outside speakers, cranked some thrash metal and jumped in the pool. Naked. In broad daylight. As the water splashed over my twigs and berries, I felt comfortable that my little display of hedonism would be enough to frighten these geriatrics away. There's no shuffleboard played here, old man. Or so I thought. They closed on the property April 1st of last year, no fooling.

Then all was quiet up until three months ago I went out to get my mail and found a survey team pounding flags in the ground. Double fuck. Any hopes I had of the new owners sitting on a vacant lot like the previous owner, went right out the window. I knew my future held the sound of pounding hammers, beeping cement trucks, and whining table saws. Not to mention dust and dirt up the ass. Great. And depression set in.

A week or so after that, I saw the old people again. I figured I might as well throw myself on the sword and introduce myself. Frenchie is 73 years old, has this thick ass Italian accent (and yes, is nicknamed Frenchie), is a great grandfather, and you know what? As it turns out he's one cool motherfucker. He and his wife have been building and flipping houses for the past five hundred years or so. The one they're building next to me is 5,500 square feet, two stories (a little rare for Florida) and a three car garage. My other neighbors and I have taken to calling the new place, "the neighborhood Walmart," because it's so fucking big. He said going to cost him "about" $650k to build all said and done -- and they're only going to live in it five months out of the year. The other seven months they'll spend in North Carolina "once the weather warms up". Are you fucking kidding me? I couldn't imagine having that much disposable income.

So yesterday Frenchie comes over and checks out my new motorcycle. I go through the drill of 'I want to complete my course before I head out' and Frenchie starts laughing. And in his thick accent goes, "Oh No! No! No! I teach'a you how to ride'a da cycle!"

Well, it's the 22nd anniversary of the Chernobyl meltdown, and after the biker chick Elena was proved to be fake, there's only one thing left to do - go there yourself and hunt all the three eyed wolves and five legged boars that now call Chernobyl home. it's an eight minute video and when they show the Geiger counter steadily climb.... hmmm. Enjoy that red forest, but at least it's still better than Chelyabinsk.

So after I politely decline Frenchie's offer, we got to talking about the construction as the conversation oftens does. He says some couple drove by the other day and being impressed with the design of the house, stopped to talk to him. Within a half an hour, he's got a deal worked out to build the same house for them on the other side of the city. And as he's telling me this, Frenchie caps it off with, "Ah i gotta nothing betta to do right now, so I figure I might as well make a couple hundred tousand dolla offa dis next house, ya know?" Yeah, I know. I often find the time to inconvience myself by making metric assloads of money. So listen, I'm going to go drive my truck into a utility pole. I'll catch you guys tomorrow.

I Guess That Was Three Strikes?

Wow, if I had known all it took to knock Fidel from power was for me to buy a motorcycle, I'd have done it years ago. So does this mean we can finally lift that stupid fucking trade embargo now? It hasn't accomplished a damned thing since the Cuban Missile Crisis was resolved, other than to deny Americans some good cigars and a nice place to vacation. Let's get on gettin' on.

Wow, if I had known all it took to see genuine topless pictures of Lindsay Lohan was for me to buy a motorcycle, I'd have done it years ago. A lot of people are shitting on those photos, but I'm not one of em. I think she's got magnificent tits. And those tiny little nickel sized nipples just do my heart good.

Wow, if I had known all it took to end the DVD format war was for me to buy a motorcycle, I'd have done it years ago. I guess it's finally safe to go out and buy that Blu-Ray player now. And in a related analogy, Dave boiled down the motorcycle debate into something everyone can relate to...

Excellent choice going with the 1100 instead of the 650. I got a Buell XB9R (984cc) as my first bike and never regretted it. I would have written to try and convince you, but it's like arguing about XBox 360 vs PS3. Everyone's gotta make their own choice. Fortunately you made the right one. Dave

So now with HD-DVD dead, I'm sure that Microsoft is going to come out with a Blu-Ray player for their XBox 360, yes? That'll sure save me a headache.

...And the rest of your free time (It's right under EHOWA on my faves) could be spent just browsing through the rest of this site. Awesome people, jaw dropping pics, cool stories. Congrats again and thanks for a great site, Jeffrey. P.S. Here's why you don't wear long sleeves near the lathe - The guy was really wrapped up in his work. Sorry.

But don't sweat it because I make mistakes too, like I forgot to post the conclusion of the game challenge for Switch. I actually did intend on letting this run a little long, because there were two folks going back and forth with the best scores, so I wanted to make sure they had enough time to battle it out...

Ernie Ernie Ernie... I didn't think it could be possible, but I find your challenges surpass facebook in its ability to help me procrastinate on my essay. I battled with it for awhile and achieved my goal of taking over the entire leaderboard. As much of a loser as it makes me, at least I accomplished something on this shitty stormy day in Halifax. - Robyn

And battle she did, taking over all ten slots on the leaderboard with a top score of 143,564. Until Sooth came along and bumped her by just over a hundred points with a 143,701. Robyn came back and retook the lead with a 143,821, but ultimately, she was overpowered by Sooth's 144,139. That my friends, is as close as it gets.

So anyone want to guess what Evangeline Lilly did before starring in television and movie flicks? (A) Flight attendant. (B) Waitress. (C) Oil changer for big rigs. (D) All of the above. If you answered D, then collect your booby prize. I know she also did commercials for those late night chat lines, too. Filthy little whore.

Sixty three years ago today on February 19th, 1945, some 30,000 the first of an eventual 30,000 Marines of the 3rd, 4th, and 5th Marine Divisions, under V Amphibious Corps, landed on the beaches of Iwo Jima.

I'll Be Rollin With My Homies.

So let me tell you about my weekend. Sooooo, the guy I made the offer on his motorcycle... the auction ended with no one making any attempt at his starting price. I fire him off an email to see if he would entertain an offer of $4k. No reply. So Saturday morning right around the time I'm getting a little bent out of shape, I get out of the shower and find an email from a guy named Andy. Andy lives over on the other coast of Florida and low and behold; he's a frequent reader and has a V Star for sale. The catch is, it's an 1100 not a 650 so it is a little bigger (and more expensive) than what I had prepared myself for. I do a quick search through my email archives and see that Andy has written in every now and again over the past two years, a fact that somehow puts me at ease. Anyway, after sending over some pictures, Andy simply made me an offer I couldn't refuse... So even though I overextended my budget a little bit beyond, I decided to throw caution to the wind and take a great deal on a great bike. Now we have to settle the matter of actually getting together to do the deal. I offered to rent a trailer from U-Haul and drive over pick it up. No sweat, says Andy. Within ten minutes of us sealing the deal on the telephone, Andy and his wife Dori were on the road headed west to deliver my new motorcycle in person.

Sure enough, three hours later, Andy shows up on my doorstep with his (my?) 2005 Yamaha V Star 1100 Classic. Notice one of my sweet ass scooters in the background, yeah baby! My overall impression of the bike is it's amazingly fucking clean. Not a single scratch to be seen, and I mean that literally. Saddlebags were added since the original pics were taken. And what surprised me a little bit, the 1100 bike is the same physical size of the 650, so balancing it wasn't anywhere near as challenging as I thought it would be. So looking back, yeah I'm really glad you people out there talked me out of starting with a 250 - as it turns out yes, it really is a girl's bike.

So a bunch of us went out for dinner and drinks to celebrate, when it occured to me that perhaps riding motorcycles apparently makes your hair fall out? Much beer were poured to quench our thirst -- yes even by me I decided celebrating my first motorcycle justified me hopping off the wagon for a day -- and many cows were slaughtered to appease our hunger. Mmmmm, California mad cow. Later at dinner, Andy applied a level of stealth that went far above and beyond, and managed to pay the tab before I even knew the damned thing had been delivered. You sneaky fucker.

So the bike is currently sitting in my garage awaiting its maiden voyage. I have to get it registered and insured, plus find myself a nice skid lid. And you know what, I'm going to complete my motorcycle safety course first, too. Because let's be honest; passing a 25 question multiple choice quiz does not an Indian Larry make. So onceI'm able to find a dog walker for Ike, and head out for a little road trip or two and the future looks bright indeed. That's right fuckers, I'm a hard core biker now.

All I Want For Christmas Is A Chainsaw And 100 Shotgun Shells.

Just a quick thing before I delve back into some motorcycle stuff. For some reason, I've been feeling nostalgic lately and have been playing a lot of Doom. I mean the original Doom. Like the old school, all your shots fire on one vertical plane, no jumping, no crouching Doom. Actually, it's the Doom 95 for Windows pack, but it works just as well on Vista. Playing it kind of takes me back to a simpler time when mortgage payments and health insurance were trhings other people worried about. I remember when it first came out. Staying up until 3am with speakers blasting, the hair on my neck standing up when I stepped into a darkened room and heard an Imp growl. And then we discovered Deathmatch, oh ho! Shotgunning my co-workers., taking a chainsaw to 'Goatboy' over in the next office. Ah, those were the good ol days. Doom II and the new Doom 3 never quite did capture the magic of that original game. Anyway. For shits and grins I went to Wikipedia and read the Wiki entry on Doom, and somewhere through that chain of links, stumbled upon Doom RPG. Let me spell that one out for you -- that's Doom for your cellphone. You heard me. Doom on your phone. if I can't have world peace, then Doom on my phone is just as good. Instantly, I knew this was something I must have. The coolect game ever on the coolest phone ever, right? Yeah not so much. Doom RPG isn't ported over to the VX10000 yet. Fucking kill me. So I created a support ticket with the makers of the game, EA Mobile, asking when the hell I would be able to get it on my Voyager and am eagerly awaiting a reply back. I hope it's soon. And I don't have an iPod so I don't care about iDoom, so please don't try to tell me about it.

Okay, so I've what I believe would make a good starter bike for me. It is indeed a V Star 650. All day yesterday I had that little devil guy on my shoulder whispering, "Don't be a pussy. Get the 1100. C'mon. Do it. Do it." But in the end my conservative side won out and I think the 650 is a good compromise I can live with. Well, I mean maybe, the guy still has to accept my offer. Peter wrote in and asked, "I can't believe that one of the most patriotic AMERICANS on the net has not even mentioned a Harley in his quest for a 2-wheeler," to which I replied, "What are the chances of me dropping or laying down my first bike? 100%. What are the chances of me wanting to drop or lay down a Harley? 0%" -- So think about it, Harley boys. Would you rather see a Yamaha logo skidding down the street, or a Harley one? I thought so. Not that I plan on dumping it, but you know how Murphy's Law goes.

I myself being in the same boat you are with the current motorcycle situation have been scouting ebay and craigslist for a good starter bike. I think I have found the perfect bike for you in the upcoming season. I know you have been looking at 650s and those bikes similar, but this just seems to suit you better. Good luck and happy bidding, thanks,Nick

I'm completely serious when I say this... I wouldn't want to own some piece of shit OCC bike. All their stuff looks the same. Paint it red and slap a siren on it, and it's the OCC 9/11 bike. Paint it black and weld some webbing on it, and it's the OCC Black Widow bike. Paint it yellow and it's the OCC Livestrong bike. And now, paint it orange and viola - it's the OCC CAT bike. They were neat to watch for the first season, but soon the episodes became as tired and monotonous as their bikes. The fact that they made millions of dollars off the same tire ass shit again and again, is a almost as offensive as their their building multi million dollar homes and driving a different Hummer each week, while Vinnie drove around in the same Chevy pickup he had since the first show. That's not to say I wouldn't do fucking backslips if I won an OCC ride in a raffle or something, but keeping in mind my Ferrari reference earlier, you'd see that motherfucker on ebay an hour later. Then I'd go buy something from Billy Lane, or from V-Force Customs which is a joint venture by Vinnie and Cody. Vinnie was the driving force behind OCC's choppers anyway.

Hey Ernie, I agree with Lane. Better to have too much and not need it......ect. As my dad said, before he left this crappy world, "The day you're not, just a little, scared to get on a motorcycle, sell the thing. If you're not a little scared, you've lost respect for it. That's when you get hurt." Anyway, good luck and have fun. On a side note. NEVER EVER, be cheap when it comes to tires or helmets. Jim

After reading your last post regarding your motorcycle choices I think you picked a good one. It's obvious that you haven't spent much time on the street and that is OK. Please take a safety course. Start here. These guys don't assume you know anything and if you don't assume you know anything you might just learn a trick that could save your life. This is very well worth the money and in a few months you should go back and take the advanced course. This was by far the best money I ever spent on my riding habit. Stephen.

The next available one is in mid March and I'm already registered. The local Harley dealer offered the course a bit sooner, but there would be a scheduling conflict with my bowling and I'm sorry, nothing takes precedence over bowling right now. The Surfside Cadillacs made it as high as 2nd place before a combination of a slump by yours truly and a pregnant neighbor/teammate caused us to nosedive all the way to 11th place. But I've got a new ball and we've got a good sub, so we're slowly getting back in the hunt. Live to bowl, bowl to live.

I Loves Me Some Reader Feedback.

What a controvery this motorcycle has become, woo hoo! So before I reveal what bike I've picked and why, I will say that I've changed my mind from what I posted yesterday, in regards to looking in the 250cc range. For those of you who complimented my decision to not go whole hog on my first bike; don't worry I'm not. But as many experienced riders have written in to inform me, the 250 is just too small for a variety of reasons. It's too quickly outgrown, the smaller engine can be strained at highway speeds, and the bike is so light it gets tossed around every time you pass/get passed by a car. But I will admit that when Scott relayed, "So Ernie is looking for a 250 huh? Tell him I have a purple one in my garage," I was a bit wounded. So me being Mr. Nerdy Mc Nerderton decided to make a mathematical comparison of all the bikes I was considering. Quite honestly I didn't feel like coding this into a table, so fuck it, I just did a a screen cap and here it is on the right.

All the weights and horserpower numbers are from here in case you were wondering.

At the top of the list and to make sure my math was right -- we have my bad ass 1997 Sundiro Mantis scooter with an enormous 49cc powerplant. Yeah, that's right bitches! State mandated to cap off at 2 brake horsepower (that's right from the crankshaft not chewed down by your drivetrain), we can see the motor has to push around the 100lb scooter plus my 175lb fat ass; so each horsepower generated has to move 137lbs. This fact is made clear to me when I twist the throttle all the way and am rewarded with a gentle breeze as the glorified chainsaw motor propels me to a staggering 30mph in just under a minute. Yeah, chicks dig it. Especially the horn.

Ernie,'Congrats on the license. I like your attitude to getting into it slowly. However, don't just look at the engine size when picking your bike. More of my mates have been hurt on small rocket racers than big "standards" or cruisers. Look more at the riding position, it is a great indicator of the manners of a bike. The more you feel like Wayne Rainey in the seat, the more likely you will end up in a wheelchair like he did.
Iain

Congrats on your decision, they are definately fun. I just got a SV650 (650cc V-Twin Naked sportbike) back in may and I just wanted to throw my 2 cents in about getting a 250cc motorcycle. It is a great idea. I wish I had done it, but get a used one as you will likely want to upgrade very soon. There are bunches of 250cc Kawasaki Ninjas on the market around D.C., many less than a year old. Have fun riding, Sam

Might I recommend not wasting your money with anything less than 600cc's. I bought my first bike about 5 years ago. It was a Kawasaki Vulcan 750cc cruiser. I was 25 at the time, so I wasn't looking to do anything crazy, or try to kill myself. It did take me a few months to really feel comfortable with the bike, but I think that was the two wheel thing, and not the size. My cousin, a motocross racer, recommended to me that anything under 500cc would be a waste of money because I would be bored with it almost immediately. After a couple of months riding it, I was very comfortable and found myself very happy with my purchase. If I had anything smaller, I would have found myself avoiding highways to get to some great riding spots. Having a "bigger" bike doesn't mean that you can't handle it, it means that when you can handle it, you'll have it. It would be like buying a Chevette as a first car because you aren't used to driving a stick. After a month, you would have wished that you had more car to drive. You seem smart enough not to kill yourself with the available power. And if you are going to kill yourself, you can do it on a 250cc bike too. Just my thoughts. Good luck with the bike, they are an absolute blast. Don't forget to waive at everyone else on a motorcycle. You will automatically be a "member" of the club. You'll see what I mean when you start riding. Lane

Hey Ernie, Congrats on passing the motorcycle test. I've been reading the site for a long time. You should have a EHOWA anniversary, and have the old black/orange color scheme. Anyway, I admire your common sense approach about not getting a bike that's too big, but you can also get one that's to small. Your biggest disadvantage is not being seen on a bike. You need a bike that can get-up-and-go when you need it to, and a 250 would be WAY TOO ANEMIC. You didn't specify if you're a cruiser-type, or a crotch-rocket type, but you can get an older model 600cc sportbike, and still be safe. Just remember your limitations, and don't do stupid shit like wheelies on the freeway. Take it easy. Your loyal minion... -Alan

Well done sir, do you have to do a practical test now or are you legal? what are you going to get? (buell xb9s are fun - but maybe a bit torquey for a first bike) enjoy it and be careful (at least for the first few months!) Benedict

Hey when you buy your bike, be careful on that thing. I work at a hospital in Atlanta where they teach people who wreck their bikes, dive off of shallow docks, fall out of deer stands how to walk and talk again. I don't want to have to run down to your room and explain to them why visitors keep taking pictures of you with your nutsack out like you're in Canada again. Joshua

I wonder why this Sally didn't put his torn dress or soiled panties up for auction along with his halo. Sack up and ride you puss.... Anyway, pass on the 250cc bikes, get something that you don't have to upgrade later. Just trying to pawn off a 250 bike is hard, because nobody wants one. I'm 39 yrs old and I just bought my first street bike last August, (a 99 Road King) and have absolutely no regrets. Buy the biggest bike you can feel comfortable on and you will be happy. Later, Nipplehead

Man that dude looked a little long in the tooth top be hitting jumps in fourth gear...

The chart is sorted on the hp/weight ratio, with the quickest bike at the bottom -- sure I'd love a nice new Yamaha FZ6 but seriously, how long until I kill myself? Answer: Not long. On the opposite side of the spectrum we have two very popular beginner cruisers - the Virago and the Rebel both with 250cc motors. Since I can assest to Yamaha's durability based upon my experience with my ATV -- it survived the two stopy drop much better than I did -- I'm not really considering the Rebel, I just needed it for a comparison. Both bikes have a similar power/weight ratio. But notice the Kawasaki Ninja 250 - which is a street bike, not a cruiser. Faster than the other 250's but not as fast as the FZ6. Zoom zoom. But as much as it pains my heart, I really don't want a street bike. Man I love to go fast, and man I love to take corners at 400 miles an hour, but I don't need a wheelchair.

And so, I believe I have settled upon the motorcycle which will nestle under my ass in the near future: a Yamaha V-Star 650 Classic. With a power/weight ratio similar to my Raptor, I think there's going to be somewhat of a familiar feel. It's got more ass than the beginner bikes, but not enough where I'm going to kill myself. It's shaft drive meaning there's less maintenance. It's heavier so it won't blow around as much. And it's a Yamaha so I won't have to change the sticker in the back window of my truck. But first, it's course time.

Did I Pass? Did I Pass?

Of course I passed, I'm motherfuckin Ernie! So how about a big thumbs up, eh?

Actually, the test was nowhere near as bad as I feared it might be. Not that a eighteen page manual is all that difficult to learn, but because DMW tests are known for being notoriously stupid and testing you not on your actual learning abilities, but on your memory.

Example: In section 3, a passage reads, "Studies show that 40% to 45% of all riders killed in motorcycle crashes had been drinking". So the point they're trying to make is booze and riding motorcycles doesn't mix. No problem, I get it. But in one of the sample questions that's offered online, I was asked...

What percentage of all riders killed in motorcycle crashes had alcohol in their system?
A) 30-35%
B) 40-45%
C) 50-55%
D) 60-65%

See, to me that's a fucking stupid question. It doesn't test whether or not I understand the concepts or practical applications of riding a motorcycle, it tests whether or not I can remember statistics from the manual. And my being able to do so doesn't mean I'll be a better rider, no more than not being able to do so would make me an unsafe one. Another gem like this was...

What percentage of stopping power is provided by the front brake?
A) 30%
B) 50%
C) 70%
D) 90%

There's another fucking dumb one. The concept they're trying to get across is the front brake provides the majority of the bike's stopping power (70% per the manual) and if you squeeze that motherfucker too hard, you're going to be picking pavement out of your teeth. But who the fuck is going to ride a motorcycle and say to themselves, "Okay, now I need to apply 2.33 times the amount of pressure to my rear brake as I do my front..." Nobody. So why not just make the answers something like...

What percentage of stopping power is provided by the front brake?
A) Less than half
B) Half
C) More than half
D) Depends on rider weight

Wouldn't that test the applicant's knowledge much better? But overall it was a good exam. Only once or twice did I find myself setting aside the practical answer, in favor of the one I knew they were looking for. No reason for me to bitch really, I got 24 out of 25 right. I missed a question on, "Why do most n00bs crash - underbrake the front, overbrake the rear, poor training, all the above". When I flipped through the manual I distinctly remembered reading a passage about underbraking the front, so that's what I picked. Of course, it was 'all the above'. And oddly enough, that question repeated itself and I managed to get the second occurance correct! I felt like I had won the lottery, woo hoo!

Ernie, Love the site. I caught this babe(?) with a another hottie and a butch in Hawaii. Ate lunch with them and my GF was all over that. Those photos are in the vault. Steve

Greetings Ernie. Congrats on the license. So, what bike are you planing on getting? A Bandit? (Like the enclosed image). It is an absolute darling to drive -- Lars (in Denmark)

Uhhhhhhh, that's a big negatory. You see Lars, I'm a firm believer in staying within your limits, and right now my limits aren't that ambitious. I think if I went and picked up a 1200cc motorcycle this afternoon, then the website probably wouldn't be updated again until around August, which is right about when I'd be getting out of the hospital. Baby steps man, baby steps. This is my first time on two wheels -- no, my bad ass scooters don't count -- so I'll probably be looking in the 250cc range until I earn my stripes. While a smaller bike is not as dangerous as say, bull riding, momma ain't raise no fool either.

Testes. Testes. One. Two. Three. Testes.

This morning at 10:30 am I will take the first exam I've taken in a long fucking time - the written test for my motorcycle permit. I've been here two years so I figure it's about time. So... wish me luck!

Growing Up Just Means Having More Expensive Toys.

This morning I was enjoying my morning constitutional and flipping through my latest Road and Track and at the very back of the magazine, stumbled across this ad for a 2003 Ferrari Maranello. The big selling point was that it only had 762 miles. Stop and think about that for a second; I sure did. A five year old car, having only 762 miles. Doesn't that strike you as a waste? I mean at what point does it stop being a car and start being just a couch? As I sat there depositing last night's eggplant parmesan into a the bowl of the finest water the city of Cape Coral has to offer, I began to run the numbers in my head. What's this car got for new? About $250,000? And you drive it less than 762 miles? And that includes the trip home from the dealer!

And thus, the topic of today's post was born. Well, not the eggplant parm, I mean the investment potential of a Ferrari.

Back at my computer, a quick search revealed that my guestimate of the Ferrari's original price tag was right ont he money - a cool quarter million. And since this car was being offered at $175,000, let's assume that the buyer paid full sticker and will get his full asking price, thus a $75,000 depreciation over the course of five years. Then of course this sort of car isn't free to drive, right? With such low mileage, the cost of gasoline and maintenance is negligible so that leave us with only insurance to worry about. A quick quotes from the folks at Allstate me $2,400 for a new Ferrari and $2,200 for a five year old model. So averaging $2,300 per year for five years, yields us another $17,500 in insurance, bringing our total five year ownership costs to a staggering $86,500. And again, how many miles are on the car? Seven hundred and sixty two. So what's the cost of having this Ferrari Maranello that's so fast is blows women's clothes off? Uh, that would be $113.52 - per mile. Stop and chew on that. This guy spent over a hundred dollars per mile, just to own a Ferrari that he barely drove.

The nearest grocery store to me is 1.8 miles from my house, making a round trip 3.6 miles. If I were to take my Ferrari out as my grocery getter, it would cost me $408 per trip. God help me if I forgot to grab a stick of butter. Want to make best of your time and pick up your dry cleaning while you're out? Driving this Ferrari would cost you over $1,000 before I had to chance to see 9 miles roll off the odomoeter. Not that you would be able to drive that far in one shot anyway. With 762 miles ticking off the odometer over a span of 5 years, that's 153 miles per year or 0.42 miles per day. How far is 0.42 miles? That's 2,205 feet. You would barely be able to drive to the corner of the block before having to turn around and head back to your garage. I doubt even you'd make it to second gear.

Looking at it in this perspective makes me appreciate my truck even more. It's thirteen years old and has 202,000 miles on it - enough to drive back and forth between Los Angeles and New York City, thirty six times. Factor in: I bought it brand new for $23,780, traded it in for $10,000, bought it back for $12,500 (don't ask), have insured it for 13 years at the cost of $11,700, have put $3,000 worth of modifications in it, another $2,450 in body work, $2,275 in oil changes (65 x $35), $1,200 in brakes ($400 x 3), $1,800 in tires ($900 x 2), $1,400 in two fuel pumps, $450 for a spray in bedliner, $900 for two complete exhaust systems, $750 for a new rear differential, and let's say another $1,000 in miscellaneous repairs, and is now worth maybe $5,000 -- for an out of pocket grand total of $63,205. But since I've driven more than 762 miles, I should factor in fuel costs at 14 mpg x $2.20 (averaged out over thirteen years), for an additional cost of a whopping $32,464.

My Dodge's bottom line after thirteen years of carting my fat ass around? $95,669. The truck's final cost per mile? $0.39. And the Ferrari's was what? $113.52. So while the Ferrari's sticker was "only" 10x the cost to buy, it's 287x the cost to own. Kind of difficult to grasp, eh? Let's look at that another way...

So... American steel. It may need a little TLC every now and again, but in the end it always gets you down the road. So just remember this little lesson the next time you play the lottery, as it could just save your bank account's life. And of course, money isn't everything. So with Valentines Day right around the corner, try to think of other ways top impress your girl, eh?

You Know, It Just Never Gets Old.

First off, I have to do a quick correction to Paint Wars, because I missed Jason's score of 117,925, which was actually higher than what I gave him credit for. My bad. Secondly, the current leader in the new game of Switch, the challenge that started yesterday, is Ian with 142,057. Get all that, or do I have to have this chick explain it?

Also, the bulk of my grand larceny saga has been condensed to a single page although I still have to go through and reformat things to make it easier to read. Cheers.

So next year will be 30 years since the Islamic Revolution when they took over the US Embassy in Iran ... any idea what to get them for their birthday?

Then, someone wrote in regarding my The Assassination of Jesse James question, and I lost the fucking email. But paraphrasing what he said, Jesse James was a good movie IF, and only if, you haven't seen Gone Baby Gone first. And it's all because of Casey Affleck -- I guess he was so horrible in Gone Baby Gone, that if you see that first, then you just just can't take him seriously in Jesse James. I can relate, because I feel the same way about Ben Foster's role in 3:10 to Yuma. He played a good psychopath sidekick in Yuma, but to me he's always going to Claire's dainty bisexual boyfriend, from Six Feet Under. Sorry dudes, you're typecasted.

So I'm going to go out on a limb here and say this band's cover of The Final Countdown just isn't quite what you expected

That's The Price You Pay.

You couldn't pay me enough money to be the supporting husband on Deal or No Deal. I was watching as a husband told his wife to take the deal when she was offered nearly $300,000. She ignored him and opened a case that got the offer knocked down to something like $230,000. Again, he told her, "We can buy a house and you can get your pilot's license. Take the deal." Again, she listened to the other assholes with her and completely ignored her husband. She opened a case and the offer tanked. She did this repeatedly until the offer was twenty something thousand. At every juncture her husband told her to take the deal and she never listened until there were only two cases left. I would divorce her. No kidding. Do Not Pass Go and Do not Collect $200. Take your shoes, your blow dryer and get the fuck out.

The winner in Paint Wars is Jason with his 106,790 points, with the next best score being Mike with 87,516. This new game challenge is going to fuck jooo up! You have two opposing matrices of squares; one side is filled with numbers/symbols, the other is blank. You have to click the corresponding blank square when prompted to find specific numbers/symbols. Play it once and you'll get the hang of it. I managed to make the leaderboard this time, woo hoo! Beat that, bitches!

First 16 year old Jamie Spears gets knocked up, now shocking naked photos of 15 year old Miley Cyrus, star of Hannah Montana, have hit the internet. Queue publicity...

Ernie. Rednecks still live in Illinois as the attached photo shows. Keep up the good work! Dennis

Military constructions by Spanish engineers have always been a supreme example of their skills. Here is a photo of a fortress that was built in Ibiza. It is based on the Castle of St Philip of Cartagena of the Indies, where Blas de Lezo culminated his glorious campaign against Perfidious Albion.

With 2005’s “Land of the Dead”, George Romero proved the old adage that “like pizza, there’s no such thing as a bad zombie movie”. I hope the same can be said for zombie games, because there's an assload of them coming out in 2008, along with a one new zombie flick Diary of the Dead.

Sunshine And Lollipops.

Yesterday I linked an auction that was apparently Melissa Midwest auctioning off her now ex-husband's baseball cards. Part of me smells a rat, but eh, for the sake of argument let's say it's really her and not just some guy using her photos to generate publicity for his auction. If we are to believe the narrative in the auction, he was Mr. Dickface McDickerton, she was a sweet angel and now she is free of this terrible burden. All well and good. Now one might wonder "what the fuck would you want to divorce Melissa Midwest for? She's fucking beautiful!" Which, yes, she is. In fact, I'd have to say she's one of the most naturally beautiful girls on the web.

But let me ask you this? Would you want to be married to her? At first glance, I think any red blooded American guy would leap at the chance - like I said she's a fucking knockout and you know she's going to blow your mind in the bedroom. Not to mention she's got money up the wazzoo -- at last report there are some 156,000,000 sites on the web and hers is ranked #3,510 -- that puts her in the top 0.00225%. I don't think estimating the site's annual income at $250,000/year is out of the question, and a quarter million goes a long fucking way in Nebraska. So while it sounds all sunshine and lollipops at first, stop for a second and really think about it.

First, to say that you couldn't be a jealous soul, would be the understatement of the century. And I'm not talking just about the fact that there are naked pictures of your wife running around - that's no big deal. If you consider all the nude galleries there are on the web, you have to stop and consider each of them is someone's significant other. But my impression is that MMW is somewhat of a minor celebrity; asked to host all sorts of parties and sex shows and such. And each of those is going to be filled with drunk beefcake guys with fake tans, all just itching to get a picture with her smiling away while they stick their tongue out on her tits. So you can be the most confident, rock solid man out there, but at some point you're going to be like 'what the fuck'.

Second, let's set all this overt leering aside and look at something a little more sinister; private leering. Given she is so beautiful, she's probably one of the most photographed adult models out there. Of all the babe sites that I link to, I feel pretty comfortable in saying that all of them have at least one MMW gallery. And unlike Luba or Corinna -- two of my other favorite nude models -- MMW doesn't just pose node, oh no. She's got toys and lesbian pals, and in some pictures are taken so close you can look up and see her kidneys. I'm not saying that's a bad thing, but it certainly puts what she does in a different league where it would be very difficult to pass off as erotic art, that's for sure. Which is all well and good money-wise when you're saving for a new BMW, but what about Thanksgiving dinner? Imagine sitting all around the table and knowing that your odd Uncle Clem just paid $4.95 for a three day pass to watch sixty second video clips of your princess slamming a pink dildo where the sun don't shine. And your eleven year old nephew is blushing because just before he passed you the dinner rolls, he spent the entire morning beating off to pictures of his aunt's pussy? Kinda freaky, isn't it? Plus, you can actually see her wedding ring in some of her later photo sets. So imagine for a second, that you're her ex-husband. Every time you see one of these reminders that you have loved and lost -- would you be sad, or relieved? Not so easy to answer now, is it? I think she'd be a hell of a girl to spend some time with, but I dunno if I'd let her share my toothbrush.

Say What You Want, It Was A Good Game.

In fact, what a terrific fucking game. A low scoring, nail biter. I was on the egde of my seat from the opening kickoff until that last final second ticked off. When the Giants held it to a four point game at halftime, I had a feeling the Patriots weren't going to be 19-0. And I don't know about you, but I nearly shit myself when how Eli Manning scrambled away and completed this pass. That was the gamewinning play, no doubt. So I'm guessing the Mannings aren't going to be on the Bradys Christmas card list this year; after both of their boys done schooled little Tommy two years running. Plus, I think the Giants would have had more points on the board if their received hadn't dropped three good passes. And Belichick walking off the field before the clock stopped? Classy. But I suppose what else can you expect from a fucking cheater, eh? To say that I am delighted witht he outcome would be such an understatement.

Ernie.... Saw this driving by the local McDonald's, thought you would get a kick out of it. Keep up the good work!!! Jim

Ernie, sorry to hear about your cell phone. That really sucks! I ran onto these the other day and thought you might find them amusing. Can you imagine the dialogue? “Earlene, I’m tryin’ to take some sexy shots of you to show my stepdad. There are three other rooms in this trailer. Why’s does the dad gum kid have to be in here? He’s ruinin’ all my pitchers!” Kevin

Current leader in Paint Wars is Jason with 106,790 who completed the game on hard.

Un Unsung Hero From The Dungeon.

Even though he's nearly 90, Forrest Biard still remembers in vivid detail how he helped break the codes that the Japanese used in World War II.

The problem is that so few others do. Capt. Biard is the last surviving member of the top-secret "Ultra" team that worked night and day to decode Japanese fleet movements in the Pacific. One of their major breakthroughs was deciphering Japanese plans before the decisive battle of Midway. Their intelligence coup gave Adm. Chester Nimitz an advantage that won the battle and the momentum in the war. Information about the 12-man team that pulled off that coup was classified until the 1980s. But if you catch Capt. Biard on one of his daily visits to the neighborhood Starbucks, he'll nod his head politely - and with old-world gallantry tell you, "Yes, ma'am, I'm the last one."

His story is the stuff of movies, the kind where the good guys win and then quietly go home and teach school. Born in Bonham, young Forrest Biard was commander of the ROTC unit at North Dallas High School who scored high enough on the competitive exam to win an appointment to the U.S. Naval academy in 1930. Although he had been a good student, his astounding capacity for mathematics did not emerge until he began applying himself to the subject at the academy. He graduated with honors, ranking first in math and one of the tops in physics.

As a young ensign, he survived a bout with a hurricane, sailed through the Panama Canal and toured the world. Naval Intelligence picked him out for language school in Japan, anticipating the historic conflict ahead. Tokyo was a new world for a young sailor from Texas, who of course was nicknamed "Tex." He made the most of his math skills by trading in yen for a profit. And he made the most of his time by helping with covert intelligence efforts, observing the Japanese maneuvers offshore.

Shipped to Hawaii, he immediately was "thrown in the dungeon" in Pearl Harbor - the dungeon was the nickname for the basement office where an elite team of "Project Ultra" code breakers worked decoding Japanese communiques. Often sleeping on a cot as they worked to beat the Japanese to their targets, Capt. Biard learned to track patterns in thousands of numbers, searching for aberrations and mistakes that might lead him to a breakthrough. The mind-boggling code breaking was like the problem solving done by the brilliant mathematician John Nash in the movie A Beautiful Mind - only you might say Tex Biard had a beautiful patriotic mind. "They would change their codes every six weeks or so, and then we'd have to start all over," he recalled. "It drove us crazy." He couldn't tell anyone what the team worked on - even when an admiral ordered him to. "It wasn't all that difficult because you knew how much depended on it," he said. "It could mean the fate of your nation or your associates. So you kept quiet."

There were hazards - On Dec. 7, 1941, when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, he rushed back to the code-breaking center. While chaos reigned around him, he was put to work decoding a letter taken from the pocket of a Japanese pilot who crashed his plane into a U.S. battleship. And there were pangs of conscience - the Japanese carried their American prisoners of war back to Japan in the hold of cargo ships. Capt. Biard admits, "We never knew if the cargo ships we targeted had our guys in there or not. But there were more than I liked to think about." But there was the satisfaction that thousands of lives were saved by the intelligence breakthroughs. Capt. Biard went on to serve with the "Project Ultra" team in Washington, D.C., and Melbourne, Australia, being the only team member to serve in all three sections. The Navy later sent him to study nuclear physics, so after the war, he taught physics and lectured in California colleges. The only recognition he received for his service was a Bronze Star for his help in the Leyte Gulf, sweeping mines and picking up Japanese survivors.

Now he spends his time calculating the odds in bridge hands for fun. And occasionally you can find Capt. Biard, a spry figure in a flannel shirt and gold-wire aviator glasses, telling a stranger at Starbucks about serving with Chester Nimitz and Douglas MacArthur. ("Thank God for Nimitz.") Or how the wife of the German spy helped him get a desperately needed boat ticket out of Japan. Or that when he was listening to Japanese radio broadcasts, he sometimes would recognize music from his own collection of RCA Red Label classic recordings that he had left behind in Japan.

Last year, President Bush presented 29 native Americans with the Congressional Medal of Honor for their invaluable contributions as "code talkers." Often operating on the front lines of battle in the Pacific, those code talkers transmitted orders to the troops in Navajo - a language the Japanese were never ever to decipher. Friends of Capt. Biard have suggested to Sen. Kay Bailey Hutchison that his service qualifies for a Distinguished Service Medal. Maybe it's about time.

Rena Pederson is editor of The Dallas Morning News editorial page.

There, now that I've set the tone by highlighting the highs of mankind, don't forget for every Captain Biard, there some scummy poacher fuck to even out the scales. Enjoy your weekend. And while you're out there, see if you can beat my score of 56,291 in Paint Wars. I don;t care what level you play, since the easy level earns you less points.